


Blood calls to blood

by Zoadgo



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergent, F/M, Shameless Smut, post 4x05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-29 21:50:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10145171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoadgo/pseuds/Zoadgo
Summary: Clarke and Roan had bound their blood in a vow, carrying with it a binding of their people and their own lives. In order to protect Clarke, Roan insists on staying in Arkadia. Clarke decides to make better use of him than as just a bodyguard.





	

Blood.

It was all that seemed to matter these days. Blood being spilled, being saved, being black and red. Blood binding families, protecting each other, killing each other, avenging each other. Clarke had only considered hers, tieing her to her mother and her people. But now…

“We’re bound by blood, Clarke,” Roan explains simply as he regards her, sitting in the corner of her room.

“I get that, but I thought that was just…” Clarke trails off, words failing her. She gestures vaguely, and Roan inclines his head curiously.

“Symbolic?” He suggests, and Clarke nods with a sigh. He shakes his head slowly and elaborates what he’d been trying to explain to her, “In a sense it is. But when we’re faced with threats, _either_ of us, we both must respond. _Blood must have blood_ means more than vengeance. We bound our blood, our people, when one of us is in danger, their blood demands action from the other.”

Clarke hadn’t truly known the extent of it when she had slit her palm, but she’s willing to accept all of that. She crosses her arms over her chest, staring down at Roan from across the room. 

“Yes, but why do you have to stay _here_?” Clarke jerks her chin, indicating Arkadia in general and her room specifically. Roan’s insistence on staying in her room was not something she had thought she would be agreeing to.

“You’re in danger,” he states, and Clarke rolls her eyes.

“We’re all in danger. Radiation will get me if you’re in the way or not.” Clarke insists, and Roan looks at her as if she had entirely missed the point.

“Do you think _praimfiya_ is the only danger to you right now?” Roan’s tone indicates that ‘yes’ is not the right answer, and Clarke narrows her eyes with suspicion.

“We’re not at war anymore,” she states slowly, adding after a hesitant pause, “Right?”

“Skaikru and Azgeda are irrevocably bound, it’s true. But we aren’t the only kru, and while my people won’t attack yours, they talk.” Roan pushes himself to his feet and crosses the room to stand in front of Clarke, “Soon, every kru will know what’s about to happen. And Skaikru is the easiest one to place the blame on.”

“But we didn’t do anything,” Clarke hisses, and Roan shrugs.

“Will that matter? Did it matter to Ilian that the tech in your home wasn’t what caused him to kill his family?” Roan points out, and Clarke grinds her teeth against the unpleasant truth before inclining her head in resignation. Roan’s point is valid; much as she wishes logic would prevail, Roan seems to be the only one she’s able to convince who has much power at all. So, Clarke’s people would once again be the enemy, hunted by any kru with a bone to pick. The weight of it bears down on Clarke, and her prideful posture begins to slump.

Roan places one hand on Clarke’s shoulder, and she looks up at him. “I won’t let anything happen to you. My armies will protect your people. But that’s why I need to be here.”

Clarke’s stubbornness bends in the face of Roan’s logic, and she covers his hand with her own, squeezing gently. “”Okay.”

Roan searches her with his gaze for a moment before nodding soundly and stepping away, his hand falling from her shoulder. Clarke feels its absence keenly and questions the reaction. She had a near death experience, an offer of protecting that wasn’t borne of a lack of trust for her abilities, but of a desire to see her proceed. Roan still stands before her, looking as comfortable as he always has around her, trusting her as a leader in her own right and never blaming her failings on her age or inexperience. She feels a familiar pull in her core and bites her lower lip briefly, debating her next action. She could call for a cot for Roan, so that he could sleep next to her door and help guard against assassins.

Or…

“The blood binding,” Clarke asks, after a moment. “It’s not, like, a marriage? A life-bond?”

Roan snorts and shakes his head. “It can be. But only when it’s done for love. Ours is political, like a bond between warriors and seconds.”

“So there’s no… expectations?” Clarke confirms, and Roan’s brow furrows curiously.

“No.”

“Good, good.” Clarke nods, her heart picking up pace. She steps towards Roan, and he doesn’t back away, merely continues to look entirely confused. He’s much taller than her, and she has to push up on her toes to press her lips to his, but she does so before she can doubt herself any further. 

Roan doesn’t push her away, but he doesn’t kiss her back either, and Clarke settles back onto her heels after a moment, returning his questioning gaze with one of her own. She had thought, quite selfishly, that once she had made the first move he would reciprocate and satisfy her desires.

“I said there aren’t any expectations,” Roan says slowly, and Clarke feels nerves twist through her stomach. She nods and takes in a calming breath.

“Exactly. I don’t want any complications.” Understanding begins to dawn on Roan’s face as Clarke explains, “If there were any expectations, then it might mean something other than what it is.”

“And what is it?” Clarke doesn’t miss the small smile curling the very edges of Roan’s lips, and her nerves relax in relief. He hadn’t wanted her to do something she didn’t want for political reasons, but now…

“Physical.” Clarke inclines her head, “We averted a war. I think we deserve to celebrate.”

“Is that a Skaikru custom?” Roan asks, his voice taking on a different tone that sends a thrill straight to Clarke’s core. He brushes a strand of hair back from her temple, his calloused fingers dragging over her skin. “Celebrating like this?”

Clarke’s breath catches in her throat as his gaze follows his fingers down her jaw to her throat, dipping to her shoulder and the skin exposed above the collar of her shirt. He stops there, tracing circles on her skin, and his attention returns to Clarke, waiting for a response. 

“No,” Clarke answers honestly before reaching up, tangling her hands in his hair and pulling him down to kiss him again.

This time, Roan does respond to her, and his response is everything that Clarke’s body wanted. His hand leaves her shoulder to grip her hip as his other arm wraps around her lower back, lifting her up. Clarke wraps her legs around his waist as Roan carries her nearly effortlessly, catching his lower lip between her teeth for a moment. Roan lets out a noise somewhere between a moan and a growl, his fingers digging into her hip and making Clarke gasp as he crosses to her bed.

When they reach her bed, Roan lays Clarke down on it and breaks from their kiss to stand, peeling his shirt off. Clarke had seen him shirtless before, but never so clean and without a wound on his torso. She sees the marks from bullets and from her own knife, and she sits up, reaching out to trace her fingertips over them. Roan looks down at her and runs a hand through her hair as she does so. Her hands stray after a moment from the marks of near death, instead tracing over his muscles, hard won from a life of war and struggle.

She ghosts over his abs and slides her palms up over his chest, tracking over his shoulders and back up his neck as she pushes herself up on her knees to restart their kiss. At the last second Roan pulls back, and Clarke feels entirely cheated. She glares at him as she sits back on her heels, and Roan chuckles, which Clarke decides is an entirely delightful sound.

“Having second thoughts?” She accuses, and Roan answers with his mouth on hers, rushing forward for a brief, bruising kiss.

“Not for a second,” he mutters against her lips, before pulling away and tugging at the hem of her shirt. “But this is in the way.”

Clarke laughs lightly and pulls her shirt off, discarding it somewhere on the floor before unhooking her bra and sending it after the shirt without dropping Roan’s gaze. He keeps his eyes on hers as she asks, “Better?”

At that, Roan’s eyes drag down over her torso, sending a delightful shiver up Clarke’s spine, and a smile curls his lips. “Yes.”

“Good,” Clarke states as she crawls back on the bed so they’re no longer on the edge of it, “Then get over here.”

Roan wastes no time in following her, supporting himself above her with one leg between hers, friction and pressure just a tiny bit too far away for Clarke to receive without chasing it. She chases Roan’s lips instead, tasting nothing save the ghost of his recent bath on his skin as they share breath. She reverses the earlier path of her hands over his chest, travelling down with a more firm purpose than before. When she reaches the waist of his pants, Clarke traces it, her fingers just barely skirting beneath it around his hips and over his back.

Roan lets out another one of those almost growls and bites Clarke’s lower lip, the quick pain kicking straight to her heart in a way she craves. She arches against Roan, rolling her hips against him as he slips lower to her, their chests hardly separated now. He shifts his weight to one arm and reaches down to grip Clarke’s hip quickly, grinding against her once before moving his hand to map her stomach and up to her breasts.

“You are…” Roan begins to mutter against her lips before choosing to kiss her more instead of finishing his sentence. Clarke pulls away as his hand cups her breast, dragging his thumb over her nipple.

“I am?” She asks, ceasing her wandering hands to prompt him to answer, grinning mischievously. She’s not sure what answer she wants, but she wants to know what he had been going to say.

“Impossible,” Roan breathes, looking at her with wonder. He pushes himself up on his forearms, hand leaving her chest to allow him to drink in her body with his gaze once again. “You look like this, so soft, but…”

“But?” Clarke prompts, heart in her throat. 

“You’re as much a warrior as any of us. Impossible,” he mutters, respect clear in his voice, and his response is somehow everything Clarke had hoped for without knowing. She had grown tired of being delicate and protected long ago, and for Roan to call her a warrior, well, she practically preens at the concept.

“And how do warriors make love?” Clarke asks, sliding her hands to cup Roan’s buttocks through his heavy canvas pants.

“They don’t.” Roan’s voice rumbles, and his grin is wicked as he shifts his weight onto one arm once again. He reaches with his free hand and grabs Clarke’s hip roughly, pulling her as he resettles himself between her legs so that he can grind against her, pants suddenly an infuriating barrier to Clarke as she bites back a moan. “They fuck.”

Clarke bites her lower lip and levels a playfully challenging look at Roan, “Then what are we waiting for?”

Roan responds by sitting up between Clarke’s legs, hands moving to purpose on the zipper of her pants in a heartbeat. Clarke arches up as he hooks his fingers into her underwear, allowing him to pull it down along with her pants with minimal awkwardness as he pulls them off her legs and throws them away. Clarke shivers from anticipation as he slides his hands up her now bare legs. 

She can feel the callouses that tell the tune of a hundred battles delighting ever more sensitive skin as he moves over her thighs. The rough scrape and his firm touch are so different from anything she’s ever known, and it’s exactly what she wants right now. She wants to know that touch everywhere. Roan’s grip moves to her hips, and much as the frantic heat within her would like to get to the part where he’s just as naked as her, she pauses him with both of her hands on one of his.

“Wait,” Clarke says, and Roan stills his movements immediately. She cuts off a question by moving his hand down, between her thighs, and Roan leans down to kiss her. Clarke leans into his lips and then lets her head fall back with a sigh that turns into a moan as Roan drags a finger up her slit.

“As you command,” Roan rumbles, making another infuriatingly slow pass with his finger. For a moment, Clarke fears Roan is going to tease her. While that has its fun, it is absolutely not what she wants right now, so Clarke grinds against his hand and traces her hands up his arms to dig her fingers into his shoulders.

That seems to accomplish its goal, as Roan adds another finger to his movements, dragging them over her clit a few more times before sinking one and then the other within her. Clarke lets out a moan as he curls them within her, thrusting his hand shallowly. She bites her own lip against another moan as Roan cups his hand to grind his palm against her clit, until he rescues her lip from her teeth with his own in another kiss. He moves his mouth to her ear as he thrusts his fingers in and out of her more aggressively.

“When I fuck you,” Roan rumbles as Clarke tries to choke back the noises Roan’s fingers seem determined to draw out of her, “I want to hear you. No holding it back.”

“Yes,” Clarke gasps in agreement, and she can feel her orgasm rising quickly. She digs her nails into Roan’s shoulders and clenches around his fingers, head falling back as she comes. He continues to thrust his fingers through her climax, and then draws them out, kissing Clarke lazily as he does so.

Clarke wastes very little time in turning her attention to the fasteners of Roan’s pants, taking hardly more than a moment to catch her breath. Her first climax has only increased her appetite, and she hopes Roan can give her another. As she palms Roan through his pants, drawing a small groan before she pulls them down, Clarke has very little doubt that she’ll get her wish.

Roan kicks his pants off, and Clarke licks her palm before running her hand up and down the length of his cock a few times, even though she’s sure that lubrication won’t be a problem so close after an orgasm. Roan positions himself between her legs as she pumps him a few more times, and Roan locks eyes with her. Clarke nods, and Roan pushes into her, sinking deeply so quickly that Clarke gasps.

He only gives her a moment to adjust, but that’s all that Clarke needs. He drags out slowly before thrusting back in, and this time Clarke moans. She drags her nails down his back, hard, feeling the lines of his tattoo as soft bumps, and it pulls a Azgedasleng curse from Roan. He fucks into her faster, gripping Clarke’s hip to raise her waist and allow him a better angle that draws more cries from Clarke.

“Fuck, Roan.” Clarke can’t help but call out his name as he hits a particularly good spot within her, and he bends down to steal the words from her lips. The kiss has the same bruising intensity of his thrusts, all teeth and fight, and Clarke loves it. She curls her legs around Roan’s waist to pull him further into her, as if such a thing were possible.

Roan mutters another Azgedasleng curse, followed by Clarke’s name as she begins to roll her hips against him in time with his thrusts, or as well as she can with his fingers still digging bruises into her hips. She knows she won’t last much longer, snaking a hand between their bodies to rub her clit as her moans and swearing become punctuated with pleas to Roan not to stop.

“Come for me, Clarke,” Roan mutters, and Clarke’s body is happy to obey the command. She clenches around him with a cry, her toes curling as Roan fucks her through it, carrying on even with her heightened sensitivity immediately in the wake of it. It’s almost too much, but the pleasure wins out in the end, and soon enough Clarke is grinding against him once more.

It only takes a few more moments before Roan pulls out of her, thrusting into his own hand a few times before spilling his seed on her stomach. He leans over the side of the bed and rips a patch of fur off of his own overcoat, using it to clean Clarke up before discarding it and laying next to her. Clare turns on her side and pushes herself up on one elbow to kiss Roan again, the fight gone from it, turning it into a gentle tangle of lips.

“A fitting celebration?” Roan asks when Clarke pulls away, resting her head on his shoulder. Her fingers trace the old bullet wound in his chest as she chuckles.

“I’d say so.”

“Good.” Clarke can feel Roan’s voice rumble through his chest, and he bends his head to brush his lips against her hair in a kiss, “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to sleep on the floor.”

“I could still make you,” Clarke says, entirely unconvincing as Roan traces lines up and down her arm.

“Blood calls to blood, you wouldn’t.” Roan accuses, and Clarke grins.

“I would.”

“Well then,” Roan says slowly, “Maybe next time I’ll leave you wanting.”

Clarke pretends to weigh the decision for a long moment before letting out a dramatic sigh. “I guess it gets cold at night anyway.”

Roan simply hums in agreement, and Clarke feels herself dozing off in satisfaction. In the morning and throughout the day, they will be blood bound allies, nothing more. But tomorrow night, well, that remains to be seen.

**Author's Note:**

> Why do I try to write smut. Why. Well, if you read this far, I hope you enjoyed it! I struggle so much with writing this stuff though, it's not even funny, but I had an idea and fucking ran with it to its bitter end. And then [Etra](http://coldsaturn.tumblr.com) sorted the trainwreck into something understandable, as she always does, she's the best <3 So yeah, I wrote some smut, and that's that.
> 
> Come chat with me [on tumblr!](http://jonnmurphy.tumblr.com) And thanks for reading/commenting/leaving kudos <3


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